


Charting a Course

by queen_scribbles



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/pseuds/queen_scribbles
Summary: for Prompt #22 Roll for It. I got Adaryc, key, and helplessness





	Charting a Course

**Author's Note:**

> for Prompt #22 Roll for It. I got Adaryc, key, and helplessness

 

Adaryc was eight when he got his first sword. It was a plain thing, unadorned and rather dull. His father just wanted him to get a feel for the weight of a blade. He expected that, like any good Readceran, his son would serve their country to the best of his ability. And for the Cendmyr men, that service had always taken the form of the military. So his son--his _only_ son--was going to do the family proud, wasn’t he?

He wanted to. Patriotism near the equal of his father’s burned in Adaryc’s chest, even at his tender age. So he took to the family’s vorlas field, swinging his sword fervently at the scarecrow. The dull blade couldn’t so much as nick the fabric, of course, but it got him used to the amount of effort it took to swing a sword, how it felt to hit your target, how much momentum you’d have if you missed.

“Dunno how good you’ll get practicin’ against that,” a voice commented one day, and Adaryc nearly dropped the sword as he spun to face the speaker. She grinned cheerfully at him from the fence that separated their families’ farm.

“Not very, if you insist on distractin’ me,” he grumbled. “Don’t you have _chores_ , Saela? Or _anything_ else to do other than bother me?”

“No,” Saela said brightly, ducking through the fence. “But I could help ya practice. Jara shooed me outta the way for a couple hours. An’ it’s only wood, but I have a practice sword, too.”

Adaryc only hesitated for a moment. Saela’s eternally chipper nature could be a bit wearing, but she was the only kid his age for miles, and he knew she wanted to join the army too when she got older. “Sure, I guess.”

“Great!” She untangled herself from the fence rungs and bolted back to her house, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. “Be right back!”

Adaryc ducked through the fence once she was gone. He doubted his mother would like it if they tore up the vorlas fields sword fighting. Better to do that in the open. There was a fair chance they’d wind up filthy, but at least they wouldn’t destroy their families’ livelihoods.

Saela was back in just a couple minutes, her hair tied back in a haphazard braid and her skirts tucked up just enough she wouldn’t trip over them. She twirled her wooden sword before leveling it at him in a two-handed grip. “Prepare to be vanquished!”

He grinned and raised his sword. “In your dreams!”

Both of them were laughing hard enough they missed with the first swing. After focusing better, they fought to a dirty, dusty draw. No form or strategy on either part, just two eight year olds having fun.

“Good fight,” Saela panted as they sat in the dirt catching their breath.

“Same to you,” Adaryc nodded. He glanced at the nasty bruise on her arm. “An’ I really am sorry about that.”

She shrugged. “It was an accident, an’ I was sorta askin’ for it, leavin’ a hole like that. I’ll remember to guard better next time.”

“It won’t save you,” he teased, kicking a small puff of dust in her direction.

Saela coughed and kicked one back. “You didn’t _win_!”

“Yeah, well, neither did you,” Adaryc retorted.

“True,” she conceded cheerfully, rubbing the bruise. “I’m gonna see if Jara knows anything to put on this to make it less obvious. I don’t wanna get you in trouble, ‘specially since this was my idea.”

“Thanks. Has she been workin’ with the healer long enough to know stuff like that?”

“Sure,” Saela shrugged. “It’s not like I want her to reattach a limb, Adaryc, just make a bruise go away. I think four months’ apprenticing is enough to know _that_.”

“If you say so.” He traced lines in the dirt with his finger. “Thanks for helpin’ me practice.”

“Nat a problem.” She scrambled to her feet and offered him her hand. “It was fun.”

Adaryc accepted the help. “It _was_ fun. Maybe... we can do it again sometime? Not tomorrow, I’m helpin’ my mother take a load of vorlas t’ the currier. But later?”

“That’d be fun,” Saela nodded. “For now we should clean up, or I’m pretty sure both our moms will yell.”

As if to punctuate her words, Adaryc heard his mother calling for him and waved a final hasty goodby as he scrambled toward the house.

<<<>>>

Adaryc was ten when the sickness swept through. It wasn’t a plague, not really, just an illness that claimed many victims among vorlas farmers. Almost as if it held a particular malevolence toward them. But that was just superstition, like Watchers or bîaŵics, this was just an illness, even if it was one that settled in drained your strength. Most who caught it only lasted a week or two before even breathing was too hard and they just... stopped.

Adaryc didn’t catch it. His mother, however, did. And a few days later, so did Saela. Father was serving guard duty along the border, so caring for Mother fell solely to Adaryc. He was so busy with that and tending the fields that he didn’t even realize Saela was sick until he went to ask Jara if she had any tips for fighting the illness.

She did, but cautioned that even with the help of the herbs she told him about, odds for survival were low. “But I’ll pray for your mother if you pray for my sister?” she added with a tired smile. This far from larger towns, her two years’ training with the healer was the most anyone had.

Adaryc wondered if Jara wished her master hadn’t flitted off on some errand a few months ago even as he nodded. “Of course.” He didn’t mention that Saela was one of his only friends, or that _obviously_ he cared about her.

But he did pray. Eothas, Hylea, any of the gods he thought would listen. _Spare my mother, spare my friend_. And it seemed to work. His mother, hardy as she was, recovered.

Saela did not. Adaryc spent the week between his mother’s recovery and Saela’s death helping Jara, feeling as helpless as he ever had in his life. Nothing they tried, nothing Jara concocted, worked, and he watched the desperation and exhaustion grown in tandem on her face.

“I don’t know enough,” she finally admitted one day when Saela coughed up blood. “Master Hendyr promised to come back and teach me more, but for now... I can’t _do_ anything, and my sister’s going to die.”

Adaryc didn’t know what to say, and that was almost as bad as not being able to help. “....I”m sorry.”

“I’m still going to try,” she said determinedly. “It might work. Never discount pure, dumb luck. But our chances aren’t good.”

Try as she did, her prediction proved correct, and Saela died just a couple days later.

<<<>>>

Adaryc was eleven when word of Waidwen started to spread. His parents were initially skeptical of the claims a vorlas farmer, of all people, had seen Eothas, let alone been incarnated or possessed or whatever by Him. But as word kept spreading, Waidwen’s power kept growing, they began to wonder.  Finally, when they heard Waidwen had deposed the colonial governor and been crowned _Divine King_ , Father left to go see if this man was everything he was said to be.

“For emergencies,” he said, pressing the key to the weapon cabinet into Adaryc’s hand. “Help your mother, do your part, and be good.” He smiled fondly and ruffled Adaryc’s hair. “I won’t be gone long, gods willing.”

He never came home. Instead, they got a letter, full of effusive praise for St. Waidwen, who was definitely what he claimed to be. Father had pledged his service right there in the throne room and now served as a royal guard. The letter was accompanied by enough silver Mother actually _swore_ , which Adaryc had never heard her do.  He wished he could go serve with Father, but ‘his part’ was to stay and protect the farm, so that’s what he would do. That and ‘be good’, which he did by sharing some of the money with Jara. In the year since Saela died, her mother had struggled with melancholy and her father had turned to drink. Fortunately, he was a sullen and withdrawn drunk rather than abusive and violent(small blessings), but this still meant them living off what what little Jara could make as a healer. At least until her parents began to recover from their grieving process.

Jara thanked him with a tired smile and took the money gratefully. “There’s no insult in charity kindly given,” she said, one hand pressed against her growling stomach.

Adaryc and his mother received many letters over the next months. All of them came with money. Mother figured it was a portion of Father’s wages. Adaryc had no reason to believe she was wrong. With her permission, he gave some of the coin to Jara each time. Until finally, one day Jara told him her father had gone back to work. She insisted he keep the money.

It was good timing on her part. A few weeks later, Mother got a letter with a black border and a fancy seal that made her cry when she read it. Adaryc didn’t need to ask. Father wouldn’t be coming home.

<<<>>>

Adaryc was sixteen when the former armsmaster came to town. Like every other boy-and a few girls--his age, he barely gave the man time to settle in before asking(begging, practically) to be taught. It would be nice to learn how to fight without going far away from home. He tried not to think of Saela, how she would’ve raced him into town and probably won, eager to learn martial skill as well. There were so many potential students, the Armsmaster--and that’s all he’ll let them call him--started a school. Mother heard before Adaryc could tell her, and insisted he attend. “I know you want to follow your father’s footsteps,” she said. “While I’ll miss your help, _this_ is what you’re supposed to do.”

It wasn’t long before he was one of the top students in class. As they got better, became more cohesive as a fighting force and worked together, the class decided to form a militia. They called themselves the Iron Flail.

<<<>>>

Adaryc was twenty one the first time he saw a person’s soul. It was an accident; caused by a solid collision with Alene during a sparring match. They knocked heads, and shortly after seeing stars, Adaryc was overwhelmed by feelings not his own. _I have to prove myself_ and a flashed glimpse of unfamiliar, disapproving faces. It was all gone just as fast as it came, and he did his best to convince himself it was a weird, one time thing as a result of being concussed. Alene and all the spectators probably thought him shaky for the same reason.

But he knew what was said about soul-seers. Watchers. They were almost as reviled and mistrusted in Readceras as worshipers of Magran. He couldn’t be one. He _wasn’t_.

And then it happened again a few days later with Mother. And he couldn’t deny it any longer. Or make it go away, badly as he wished. He could hide it, though. Which he did, successfully. for quite a while. A few people knew, of course. Mother. Alene and his other close friends in the Flail. But he did his best to bury his abilities and use them as sparsely as possible. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was the best he could do. And it worked. For now.

<<<>>>

Adaryc was twenty six when he saw the army in his dreams. A vague but definite threat rolling down from the White March like an avalanche to crush Readceras to dust. He woke breathing hard and with a newfound burning desperation to protect his still-weakened homeland from the obvious Dyrwood threat.

He had recently taken over leadership of the Iron Flail, which gave him resources. Assuming he could find a way to convince them of the urgency without sounding crazy. I _saw it in a vision_ was hardly iron-clad proof, but he’d proved himself as a soldier and a leader well enough that hopefully his word would be sufficient.

It was for his lieutenants. Alene not only believed him but started offering plans. All of which Adaryc nodded along to--they were fine but not stellar--until she mentioned the White Forge. _That_ was a plan; claim the Forge and its cannons, be in a prime position to handle the threat when it emerged. The White Forge was the key to protecting everything he cared about. And sure, the village of Stalwart clung tenaciously to their prize, but he could deal with them. He would not be left helpless again. With that decided, he resolved to tell his men and depart in the morning. Their course was set.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: been a while since I played WM2, so I maaay have forgotten something. But I really like Adaryc, so I wanted to write about him. I know the game describes him as a younger man(I did watch a LP of the confrontation with him for a few details, but not everything), but humans in Eora can live to 180, so I think 26 still counts as young. :P


End file.
